"Yes. I have made a discovery! That accursed English heretic—that limb of Satan!—William Tyndale—is here, within the city walls, and I can give a broad guess as to what he is doing. You remember how he started the translation of the Bible in England?"
He paused, but Buchsel's only response was a nod, for he was waiting for Cochlaeus to tell his story, which he did, not knowing of those two who were standing outside and heard every word with growing dismay.
"He must be here at his old work—that devil's work, I call it!—translating the Scriptures, meaning to scatter his pestilential stuff far and wide, seducing the people who read it to heresy."
The man at the table stared at Cochlaeus incredulously.
"William Tyndale, that arch-heretic, here, in this city, did you say?" he asked, in an amazed tone.
"Yes, I said 'here.' Where could that mean but in this city?"
Margaret's heart beat so wildly that she held her hands to her bosom as if to still it; but she waited eagerly for what would follow. There was no thought about eavesdropping now, much as she abhorred it, for she was asking herself what this would mean for the man who was lodging in Herman's home.
"Where does he lodge?" asked Buchsel, standing up so suddenly that the chair fell to the floor noisily. He was staring hard at the heresy hunter.
Margaret felt faint with fear of what the answer might be.
"Where? I've got to find out. He is here in the city. I know that much. But he shall be found, and then—ah, me!—I will hand him over to the tormentors. He shall be lodged in the dungeon of the Holy House, and the Familiars shall deal with him!"